Le Chemin
by Murasaki Kurai
Summary: One Shot, Song Fic to the song Le Chemin by Kyo. A female serial killer has a chance encounter with Lord Voldemort. Voldemort takes an interest in her. Voldemort X OC WARNING: MESSED UP!


**Le Chemin**

_Murasaki Kurai_

Voldemort X OC

XOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXO

Le Chemin

French

Regarde-toi assise dans l'ombre,  
A la lueur de nos mensonges,  
Une main glacée jusqu'à l'ongle,

Regarde toi,  
à l'autre pôle,  
Fermer les yeux sur ce qui nous ronge,  
On a changé à la longue,

--Refrain--  
On a parcouru le chemin,  
On a tenu la distance,  
Et je te hais de tout mon corps,  
Mais je t'adore,  
On a parcouru le chemin,  
On a souffert en silence,  
Et je te hais de tout mon corps,  
Mais je t'adore encore,

Je vis dans une maison de verre,  
A moitié rempli de ton eau,  
Sans s'arrêter le niveau monte,

Je suis le fantôme qui s'égare,  
Je suis étranger à ton coeur,  
Seulement regarde comme on est seul,

XOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXO

English  
Look at you sitting in the shadows,  
At the glimmer of our lies,  
A frozen hand up to the nails,

Look at you,  
On the other side,  
Shut your eyes to what's gnawing at us,  
We have changed in the long run,

--Refrain--  
We have covered the path,  
We have held the distance,  
And my whole body hates you,  
But I adore you,  
We have covered the paths,  
We have suffered in silence,  
And my whole body hates you,  
But I still adore you,

I live in a glass house,  
Half filled with your water,  
Without stopping the rising level,

I am the ghost who is lost,  
I am the stranger to your heart,  
Just looks like we are alone.

XOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxo

I am a murderer. I kill, and I kill, and I never stop. I am addicted to the feeling of blood between my fingers. I like to make them beg, before inevitably taking their meager lives away. I guess you could call it my hobby. Or my talent.

I am a serial killer. I kill with a pattern that has yet to be deciphered. I kill once a week, every Sunday night, before midnight. Before Monday morning. I make every Monday a lasting dread to someone, and I can feel better because of that.

I only kill men, because I have a special hatred for men. I kill men that have a certain characteristic. One of many cataloged in my mind.

I leave my signature wherever I go. I carve it onto whatever is left over after I destroy them. It is a circle, and a word translated into a complex code that was the reason for their death.

It's funny. When you kill someone, you almost have to let them realize how dead they are before you realize it yourself. When you lower a knife upon their head, you wonder if the man will block it just in time. When you shoot him, you wonder if the gun with actually go off, or if it will hit the correct organ so that the death is quick. When you strangle him, you fret over the fact that the person you're trying to kill is stronger than you. When you poison him, you sit there for what seems like a lifetime wondering if he was immune to it, or if you were actually taking a sip of the lethal liquid right then… Killing is hard work.

* * *

I walk towards the home of my twenty-eighth murder quickly. This particular victim happens to have dark hair he wears in a braided pony tail. Not to mention the stubbles that are littered across his face like mine fields. I would probably write hair or stubbles across his chest, with a knife of course. It didn't matter what I decide on now; I already have every possible characteristic of _him_ coded in my head, ready to be carved on a rigid stomach. I could decide on spur of the moment, later on.

This man had always confused me as I watched him. He wore a long cloak that reached his ankles, and carried around a long stick. And, whenever I tried to pursue him, he turned around a corner and I followed, but he had already mysteriously disappeared. It was strange, but he always returned, and he always came back at the same time.

I pick the lock on the front door easily, and step inside, relocking the door instinctively behind me. I walked inside, and began fumbling through the dark room. My dark purple coat flows out behind me a little, and it annoyed me, so I shed it, and dropped it on the floor next to the door. I could hear him in the other room. He's probably cooking himself dinner or something… No… there's someone there…

Crap… that makes two murders in one night. This better not last until midnight… I step closer towards the light hallway, and hide my body around the corner. I listen to the conversation.

"Pl-please… I beg of you… Have mercy…" I hear the voice of the man I was planning on killing. What, was he getting evicted from his house or something?

"I have no mercy, Smith, you should know that." The new voice was so high pitched it frightens me for all but a second. What type of creepy person was I going to kill along with the victim? I hope he was like my husband so I would have some type of excuse. There is a long pause, and a gasp. I feel my eyes narrow in confusion.

"_Avada Kedavra_…" I flinch at a green light reflecting into the dark room. There is an audible thud, then complete silence. All I can hear was my unsteady breathing, getting more abrupt by the second, excited at the blood lust pulsing through my veins.

"Come out. Immediately." The voice speaks to me, obviously. I placed a smirk on my face, and stepped out to look at the man I was about to kill, my eyes prepare to look for links with him…

I gasp in surprise. The man is tall, bald, and almost inhuman. His fingers are long, and they clutched a raised stick, now pointing at me. He wears a long black cloak and has red eyes that glow in the dimly lit room. On the floor is my intended victim, a look of fear plastered across his face. He's dead.

And…

The man is absolutely nothing like my husband. I see no similarities, and I know his voice is nothing like my husband's either. There's nothing. Normally if I looked hard enough I could find one characteristic that jumped out at me, but this monster is absolutely inhuman. It was almost like his ivory, stony skin was just as dead as my intended victim, lying on the floor. Somehow, by looking at the raised stick like object, and the dead man… I know this man was like me; a murderer. But then I looked into his blood shot eyes, and realize I could never even compare to his cruelty. Next to this man, I am nothing.

"Name yourself," The man says. His voice flat for such a high pitch.

"Meghan Elmwood…" I whisper. My weak voice trails off.

"Meghan…" He says, a cold laugh accompanying it. "How cute. What is your reason for being here?"

Somehow, I know there was no possibility in letting a lie slide past this man. I raised my hand and pointed at the dead victim. "I was planning on killing him."

"…Why?"

I shrug, suddenly smirking again. "He has characteristics that remind me of a certain person."

"Excuse me?"

"That's why."

The man doesn't say anything, instead, he takes a step towards me, thinks better of it, and steps backward.

"And you?" I ask. "What is your reason for killing this man?"

"He… defied my right to power."

"Your _right_ to power?"

"Yes. I am in the process of taking over the world. Something a petty killer like you would not understand."

The words 'petty killer' gets me off. "_Excuse me_?" I ask angrily.

"Did you not understand me?"

"This would have been my twenty-eighth murder, if you had not completed it." I don't even need to hear his response to know it beats me.

"Try over five hundred. And many, many more on my command. I lost count twenty years ago. I've been killing since before you were born, girl."

"F-five hundred?" I murmur. What, was he in the mafia or something?

"Thinking twice about our words are we now?" He is smiling, spinning the stick in his long fingers.

I am overcome by a respect for this man. "Wow… Um… who are you?"

"I am Lord Voldemort." Nice name, I think.

"It's a little hard to remember…" I tell him. "How about Voldy?"

"_Crucio_." He whispers. I am over come with pain, so unearthly nothing could sum up to it. But… honestly the emotional pain I've gone through is worse, so I gasp a little, and my body goes rigid, but I don't scream. Then, it's gone.

"Wow… can you teach me?"

"Tsss…." He hisses dramatically. Like a snake. "You cannot be taught such things, filthy, muggle whore."

Somehow, I don't feel like asking what a muggle is. So I shrug and raise my hand in greeting.

"Well, I'll be leaving now then, unless you'd like to kill me too?" I said quietly. "To add to your grand total?"

"Hm… no," He replies. I smile and turn to leave. "But…" I turn back slowly, my face is expressionless. "I've taken an interest in you…"

"And I you."

"I think I'll be bringing you back with me." I finally feel my eyes widen in fear.

"You- you can't… I have to keep killing… I'm not done yet!" I exclaim.

"Silence," He says. "You may have a chance to take another human life."

"That's not _good_ enough!" I cry out. "If I don't kill once a week-"

"What?" He snaps. I don't know what to say.

"I…"

"You see, unlike your pitiful attempts at reasonless, empty murder, I have a goal. And, unlike you, I am not in the least afraid to step on, and _crush _whomever gets in the way."

"That has nothing to do with me! I'm not in your way in the least so-"

"Including people that deny me." I stop myself from saying anything else. He stretches his hand toward my wrist.

"N-no… please… I…" I back away slowly, until I hit the wall next to the door.

Half a second passes.

I flip around and sprint out the door as fast as possible, then out the door to the house. The cold air that hits me is startling, but my purple coat is far behind, and I don't dare turn around to get it back. My heavy breaths are silent against my pounding footsteps, booming against the dark cement. I took the bus, so if I can only get that far…

I am in luck.

The bus pulls up to the stop just as I arrive, and I jump in, finally getting the chance to catch my breath. I hand over a bus token, ignoring the strange looks the driver gives me. Then, I make my way to the back of the bus. On the way I pass an old geezer giving me looks, and a woman on the way back from her night shift. I glance at my watch.

Ten minutes to midnight. Ten minutes till Monday. _I failed_. For the first time in twenty seven weeks, I had failed to complete a murder. I cradle my head in my hands, and feel warm tears slide down my cheek.

Then…

The bus skids to a rough stop. I look up, suddenly remembering why I had been running, and why I had failed. The windows crash in. The other two people on the bus scream and covered their heads, as glass shards pierce them.

Nothing touches me, and I stand, regretfully. I walk forward, towards the front of the bus, where the window is completely gone.

"And… I don't care about being seen, or leaving tracks," His voice comes. "Because, there is _nothing _anyone can do to stop me."

I turn around slowly, and hope that the tears I had shed weren't visible. I can see from the look on his face they are in vain. He walks toward me and I don't move. His cold, long-fingered hand rises to my cheeks. My face burns where he wipes the wet trails away.

"You feel the need to kill so much?"

I hesitate, but nod. Then, he smiles. I blink back. He moved me to the side, into a holy seat, and walks to the front of the bus, where the bus driver is half unconscious and moaning in pain. He grabs the man, and pulls him to where I sit. My eyes widen.

"Is he acceptable?" I stare down at him, and see it immediately: sparkling, chocolate brown eyes. I have only seen two people in my life with eyes like that, before now.

I nod quickly, and pull out my knife. The man flinches and stares at me with scared eyes. I smirk, glad I was able to see it again.

I slice the knife across his throat, then make a circle, carving it through the man's shirt into his flesh. In my code, I write 'sight'.

Warm blood pours out and wets my hands. The man goes limp, and screams, but is silent quickly.

Dead.

My watch reads, 11:59.

It switches to 12:00.

I sigh, and lean back into the seat, against the wall, while Lord Voldemort kills off the other two passengers.

_28_

I fell asleep.

* * *

I awake in darkness, and have no recollection of what had occurred. I raise my hands to my face and rub my sore eyes.

_Damn_

Where was I…? I had killed that man in the house…

No. Voldemort had. _I killed the bus driver_. Brown eyes. The bus driver's eyes matched my ex-husband's. I sighed. I was wherever Voldemort had brought me.

A few yards away there's a line of light, coming from outside, marking the bottom of the door. I get up and walk over, then test out the door.

Locked.

I breathe out and reach up into my hair to pull out a body pin, so I can pick the lock.

There isn't a single pin to be found. _Had he seriously gone through my entire head of hair to take out every single body pin?_

Yes. He had.

I shake my head in annoyance and walk to around the room, searching for some type of small pointed object in the darkness. It takes a while, but I find something that feels like an old clasp for a dress under the bed I woke up on. It's not my choice tool, but it's not like I have any other choices.

I attack the door handle for a few minutes, and have absolutely no luck. This is the hardest door I've ever-

It opens, but I'm not the one pushing it.

It slams open on my face, making me fall back onto the floor. I groan in pain, and rub my nose which feels broken.

"Trying to escape?" He asks. I glance up at him, but everything is red and fuzzy with the pain.

"Ah…" I grumble. "N-no…"

"What then?"

"I don't do well locked up…"

He raises an eyebrow. The pain stars to subside a bit, so I elaborate.

"When I was little, my dad used to lock me up in this closet for days at a time. No food, no light. It was… a type of abuse I guess."

He doesn't say anything. Just looks at me.

"What?! Lots of people are abused like that…"

"You get more interesting the more I talk to you."

"Uh… thanks?" I roll my eyes and try to stand up. My nose feels broken, so I clutch it again. I feel warm blood leave a trail on my fingers. It runs into my mouth, and I relax a bit at the metallic taste.

"Your nose is broken?" He asks.

"Thanks to someone…" I reply. He says some words I don't recognize. _Maybe Latin?_ The pain goes away. I stare at him, but do nothing other than that.

"You're welcome." I roll my eyes, and stand up straight. "Well, come on."

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Nowhere. Let's go."

I grin at the oxymoron.

Outside the door to the room where I woke up, is a long dim, hallway. Outside the window, it is dark, and I can see stars. I must have been asleep all day.

We go into a large room with a table in it. There are people seated at it all the way up and down, all dressed in the same black cloaks the man I had been planning on killing had worn.

Lord Voldemort walks to the head of the table, farthest from the door, I follow, but once he reaches where he plans on sitting, he turns around and points to the a seat away from the table, beside him against the wall. I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms.

He stares at me.

"No." My voice pierces the silence. Everyone stares at me, including Voldemort.

"Excuse me?"

"I have no allegiance to you. I don't have to listen to you." His red eyes burn.

"_Imperio_…"

It's a strange feeling, not having to think about what you do… Being controlled. It's almost blissful… I wish I could go on like this forever…

And suddenly, I am sitting. In the chair Voldemort had been pointing to. I blink and look around. A few are still gazing at me, but the rest have turned back around to look at Voldemort, who is also now sitting.

_Magic. _Will I ever be used to how strange it is? Only a day earlier I had assumed ignorantly normal humans were the most dominant being in this world, and now, I realize that these wizards could crush all of us like bugs, beneath their feet.

They are talking about something, having a meeting about someone. I don't really pay attention.

Their 'meeting' end quickly. If I can even call it a meeting… it's more of Lord Voldemort talking and everyone else cowering in fear. It makes me smile a bit.

Once Lord Voldemort dismisses everyone, and a few scramble to their feet and out the door, Voldemort glances over at me.

I raise my eyebrows and look out the window, where it is dark. The moon shines through, and reflects on the table, as the room is only lit by the fire behind Lord Voldemort.

The room empties quickly, so Lord Voldemort stands and walks over to me.

"Hey, Voldy!" I say, mock cheerfully. His invisible eyebrows rise, and my fake smile falls into a scowl. I roll my eyes. "What?!"

"Don't you have something to say to me?" He asks.

"Oh yeah…" I reply. "Why the hell am I here?"

I see his hand twitch, wanting to grab his wand and curse the shit out of me. He calms down, knowing that I wouldn't be able to handle it.

"_Thank _me for letting you kill that man."

"No," I reply promptly. "If you hadn't shown up at that house, I would have killed him."

"That man was a wizard, just like me. The second you came at him, he would have said a few words, flicked his wand, and you'd be dead."

"What difference does it make?" I demand. "You're going to kill me anyways!"

"I'm not going to kill you." He says quickly.

"You-" I stop. "What?!"

"I have no need to kill you," He continues. "Not to mention you are _far _too interesting to waste with a few words. No. I'll be having some fun."

"_I'm not a toy_." A tone comes into my voice I haven't used since the night I killed _him_. I stand I look him straight in the face, though it is hard considering how much taller he is than I.

"…Are you so sure about that?" Asks Voldemort, quietly. His hand is suddenly on my chin, lifting it slightly, so my neck is strained and my back is forced to arch a bit. I raise my hand and slap his away.

"_Don't touch me with your disgusting hands…_" I scream quietly. "_Asshole…_"

He laughs. "If only the _rest _of my servants had as much _spunk _as you."

"_I'm not your damn servant!_" I feel my eyes burn, and I wonder if they are as red as his. The me like this would scare the hell out of any other person in the world, but Lord Voldemort acts as if this is nothing. He mocks me…

"_I don't need to take this,"_ I tell him, and then I turn away and walk towards the door. "_I'm leaving_."

"I don't think so…" He tells me, from behind. I place my hand on the door and try to turn it. It won't budge.

"Damn it, open the door!" I shout. He smiles and strides over. I continue to try at the handle.

And I'm pinned to the wall.

"There are… _so _many things I can give you…" He whispers in my ear, as I turn around. "_So _many pleasures…"

His hand touches my thigh.

"_So _many tastes…"

He licks my chin.

I shiver.

He raises his head a bit, and puts his lips on mine, sucking my bottom lip. I moan unwillingly. Then, he roughly bites the lips and I gasp in pain.

"_Such _satisfaction to that bloodlust we _both _understand so well…"

Blood flows into my mouth. The metallic taste makes me relax for a moment.

"All you have to do is tell me what it is you want…"

"I…" I begin, trying to think clearly. "I want…"

"Ye_sss?_"

"I want to kill…" He looks like he's going to say something. "Once a week…"

"I can help you with that…"

"Without your help." He pulls away from my body, still pressed against the wall.

"I can make things so much easier for you… There will never be even the slightest chance of you getting caught…"

I grin, finally able to function normally. "Where's the fun in that? Don't tell me you don't get a _thrill _from being a fugitive on the run…?"

"You'll never have to worry about finding a target and-"

"No. My answer is no." I snap quickly. "I don't need you. I don't want your help."

He stares at me for a long time, and finally, after what seems like a lifetime, he pushes completely away from the wall, and opens the door.

"Fine. But if you think this is the end, you are _very _wrong. We _will _meet again."

I smile. "Oh, good."

* * *

A year later, I have killed eighty people, once a week, just as planned.

But though Voldemort had told me he'd let me go, he won't stop showing up. A few times, the intended victim is knocked out by the time I get there, with no bruises anywhere on his body.

At this, I simply finish the victim off, careful not to leave any tracks for the police. On the night when I plan on killing my eighty-first person, I succeed, with no interference from Lord Voldemort. My code was 'body picture'. I return to my rundown apartment, in the slums of London.

I decide to take a shower, to wash the blood off the random crevices of my body, so I enter the bathroom.

Scratched across my bathroom mirror, painted over in black, is one word, written big enough to take up all the space.

_**Soon**_

I feel my eyes burn in hatred, and my fist flies from my side, into the mirror.

The mirror shatters into pieces, in a piercing crash that echoes through the apartment. The shiny glass falls into the sink, and blood drops off my hand, staining the shards of mirror.

The adrenaline rush I feel dulls the pain a bit, so it is bearable.

"_Damn_…" I hiss.

* * *

A little over five months later, I approach the house of my one hundredth target.

My final target looks similar to the man I had planned on killing, about a year and a half ago, when Lord Voldemort had interfered with my life.

I plan on killing this man is with a knife. And I plan on doing it the same way as I had killed my him, so long ago, when I committed my first murder. I even researched some pictures of it, to make sure I do it absolutely perfectly.

I pick the lock of the apartment door, and dart into the entrance room. The target is asleep on the couch.

"Finally… my salvation…" I whisper. Then, I yell, "WAKE UP!"

The man flinches awake and stares at me.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" He mumbles, still waking up.

"I'm here for your life…" I whisper, walking towards him.

"W-what?!" He shouts. "Get away from me bitch!"

I laugh. "Just get on the ground and let me kill you…"

"Y-you're CRAZY!" He stands up.

"Really? I hadn't noticed…" Then, I run at him, knife in hand, prepared to slice this man up to pieces, He tries, to run, but after doing this for so long, my reflexes are heightened to the extreme. I dodge to the right, to cut him off from the phone, and make my first cut across the neck. He drops to the floor, screaming in pain. I make another cut to silence him, and then stand to look at my work.

It's similar to him, but not perfect. I sigh, too lazy to worry about the details. No one will realize it anyways.

My watch says 11:58. My breath turns cold and quiet. The apartment is silent.

I hear him clapping behind me, but I'm too exhausted to turn and see him.

"One hundred?" He says. "That's quite impressive for a muggle…"

I turn to see him standing in the shadows. I smile.

My watch reads 12:00. It's Monday.

I smile, and raise the knife to my neck he stares, eyes suddenly wide. It's a look that doesn't suit him.

"One hundred…" I whisper. "And one."

I move my hand, and slide the knife across my throat. I gasp in pain, and collapse to the floor.

"NO!" He shouts, rushing towards me, his movements are like a spirit. Like the spirit of death coming for my soul.

I smile.

"Bye-bye… Voldy…"

* * *

I know I'm alive the moment I sense the light around me. There is no light in hell.

I groan in pain. It's hard to breathe.

"You're awake?" Lord Voldemort asks. I don't open my eyes. I'm too afraid of the bright lights that I can sense, warming my face.

"Why… did you stop me?"

"Tell me why you kill."

I breathe out, and, with my eyes closed, respond quietly. "Why do you need to know?"

He doesn't say anything. I sigh again.

"Fine. I'll tell you." And I tell him everything.

* * *

I kill men with a special similarity to my husband, who eloped with a hooker. The hooker left him. He came back. I killed him.

I only kill men who remind me of my husband. They have brown hair, or brown eyes, or are five foot eight or wear their long hair in a braided ponytail. They have stubbles, or small feet, or paint their stubby finger nails lime green. They work only day jobs and are always sure to return to their homes by nightfall, or they have a band that has never performed for a crowd over twenty-three, or have ADHD. They are nice people.

I got pregnant from my husband. At first, I was happy, but eight months into the pregnancy, on a Monday, my husband left me for that damn hooker. One month later, on the day I turned twenty four, I gave birth to our son. A week later, I was released from the hospital, and I returned home to find my husband, sitting in an arm chair as if nothing had happened. I felt my eyes widen, as I asked quietly why he was back. He smiled, and asked what I was talking about. I asked him if the whore left him. The pause told me it was true. I smiled, told him I was happy to have him back. I handed him our son, and walked out of the room, to the kitchen.

I remember looking into the mirror in the kitchen, which was dusty from not being cleaned for so long, since he left me. I remember staring into the mirror, and seeing my own face. But my eyes were not mine.

They had changed when I was betrayed by the man I loved.

I took a knife, and hid it under my shirt, then I walked back into the room with my husband. I took the little boy out of his arms, took out the knife, and stabbed it through his heart. He collapsed to the floor quickly, with a satisfying thud, and a moan. Then I turned, and saw my son, looking up at me with those huge brown eyes. His eyes.

I slit my son's throat. His eyes remained open, staring up at me. Wanting only my love. Just like my husband, still bleeding on the floor from his own death. I gouged out my sons eyes, and put them over a candle that was burning, making the room smell like honey and clovers. The smell of burning body parts filled the room. Then, I walked out of the house, and burned it down.

I went to the airport, got on a plane, and left for London. I started over, starting immediately by killing.

* * *

Tears fell out of my closed eyes as I told him about the bizarre, nascent feeling that pulsed through my veins at the sight of the blood, dripping from my husband's veins, then from my son's.

And the nostalgia I felt every time I took a human life.

But I couldn't stop, because it was all I had left.

I didn't have my son.

I didn't have the only man I had ever truly loved. Loved enough to kill so many people for the sake of.

All I had was the blood that ran through my fingers every time I took the life of someone who looked even a bit like my husband.

"Do you feel any regret for everything that has happened?" He asks, once I'm done.

I think for a moment, then reply. "There is no such thing as regret. All there is… is hope… and emptiness when that hope is never fulfilled."

"Meghan…" He says. I whip some tears from my cheeks. My eyes burn, but I can't open them. Not now. I can't

"Yeah, Voldy?"

"Open your eyes…" I shake my head no. I no longer feel as if I deserve to see the world. He pauses. "Do it. Look at me."

I breathe out, and choke in pain; my eyes blink open as I cringe.

He grabs a hold of my head before I can do anything, and I stare at him. He's standing right over me. I feel and urge to glare… but somehow I can't. He pulls a blade out of nowhere, and puts it in my hand, then pulls my hand to his face.

"Kill me," He whispers. I shake my head frantically, trying to pull the knife away.

"No… I can't… no…" I mutter, as I strain against his grip. The knife glides threateningly close to his neck.

"Why?"

"I-I just…"

"Do I look like him?"

"No!" I scream. He lets me pull the knife away. I drop it to the floor and sit up, to face him. Our faces are only inches apart. I whisper, "You are _nothing _like him…"

"Do you still love him?"

"I stopped _loving_ him when he drove me to _kill_ my _SON_!" I sob. I grip Lord Voldemort's black cloak and cry.

"…D-drove me to be this…" I whisper. I feel broken for the first time since my husband first left me, over two years ago.

"If you weren't as you are now…" Voldemort says into my ear, monotonously, as I have never heard him before. "I wouldn't care about whether or not you killed yourself."

His lips slide across my chin. My puffy, red eyes watch him, tentatively.

"And you wouldn't have survived past that night when we first met."

I lower my head and push into him, my lips crushing into his.

He kisses me back.

* * *

Somehow… though I knew he'll never tell me he cares about me… I don't want him too. My husband told me he loved me. I couldn't handle Voldemort being the same as him, in any way.

Where we are now, I cannot say, but we are safe. Together.

Him saying he wouldn't kill me…

Him saying he cared that I was going to kill myself…

Just ways of telling me he loves me.

We're murderers.

We're hardly even human anymore.

We have no sense of right or wrong. Good or bad. Hard or easy.

And our souls, which disappeared, when we killed our first living, breathing, human, return, only when we are with each other.

We don't have hearts.

All we have is…

The hearts of murderers.

And for each other, that's all we need.

Because it is our only way.

The way.

XOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXOxoXO

**A/N This was an idea I had been considering for a while. Its my longest one shot EVER. I couldve split it into shorter chapters, but I really didnt feel like it.**

**If you haven't heard the song, Le Chemin, please, please PLEASE listen. You can find it. It's by Kyo, and it is in french. Le chemin is french for 'the way'.**

**Sorry about the wierd use of present tense. I was trying to make it more personal. **

**Hope you liked it! review please!!! :D**


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